


speech bubbles

by spartona



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Comics, Dungeons and Dragons, Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), Genderqueer Lance (Voltron), He/They Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Has Vitiligo, Lesbian Allura (Voltron), Light Angst, M/M, Magic The Gathering - Freeform, Minor Allura/Romelle (Voltron), Minor Kinkade/Hunk, Minor Matt Holt/Shiro, Pansexual Shiro (Voltron), Self-Indulgent, because i'm me, nerd fest, that's all it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29943678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spartona/pseuds/spartona
Summary: In which two disasters make a comic together. Hopefully. Maybe. Possibly.If they can, you know, get along.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	speech bubbles

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys! so i've been in a bit of a writing slump lately, and i feel bad not keeping up with my fault line series (it's been two months since i said i'd post and still haven't). this is not a replacement and i'm still working on my galtean fic, but this is a fun side project i can motivate myself to write so i feel productive. 
> 
> this is a very self-indulgent mess. i probably wouldn't have posted it if it weren't for my need to share and talk about things i'm passionate about, hence me posting this. so here, i am baring my soul, and i hope some of you enjoy this. if not, that's fine. 
> 
> love y'all <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He points at Keith. “You draw.”
> 
> “Uh, yes?”
> 
> Allura’s eyes widen in realization. “Oh, my, god it’s finally happening.”
> 
> Keith looks at her in slight alarm. “I’m sorry, what?”

_"...a graphic convention used most commonly in comic books, comics, and cartoons to allow words (and much less often, pictures) to be understood as representing the speech or thoughts of a given character in the comic." (Wikipedia.)_

\- - -

Keith got his first comic when he was twelve.

It was just a few days before his father died, a few days before his entire life fell to pieces. It was worn, well-read, most of the colors fading. Pages were dog-eared, some even torn or missing completely. It wasn’t impressive, but Keith loved it anyway. He loved it more after his father went into a burning building and never came out.

He loved it more as he got tossed from foster home to foster home, the faded Captain America comic the only possession he took from place to place.

It wasn’t something he made known to others that he had. He didn’t trust that the other kids wouldn’t take it. Instead, it was a comfort in the middle of the night after bad dreams. Something to read and lull himself to sleep. Something he could associate with a happy memory, a happy moment, just— happiness.

As he got older, that emotion became rarer and rarer.

\- - -

Lance peers around the shelf again, eyes narrowed. They hear Hunk sigh next to him, shuffling through a bn of comics. “What if you— and this sounds bizarre, I know— talk to him?”

The Cuban whips around to glare at their best friend. “That is a _ terrible _ idea.”

Hunk deadpans, putting away the Teen Titans comic he was flipping through. “It’s not as difficult as you’re making it out to be, dude.”

Lance waves him off. Hunk shakes his head fondly, going back to flipping through the comics. They peer back around the shelf, towards the counter where Mr. Emo Artist stands. Hunk and Lance are regulars to Altea, and for the longest time, the only person behind the counter was Coran. Mr. Emo Artist popped up a couple of weeks back, ignoring everyone in the store unless they caused trouble or needed to check out. 

At first, Lance didn’t like him. He stood— well, sometimes he sat— behind the counter with a permanent scowl and better-than-you attitude, and Lance made the decision to keep well away. Also, he drew. Like, all the time. Every time Lance entered the store, there was Mr. Emo Artist, wearing his Captain America (seriously, everyone knows Iron Man is better) t-shirts, tattered jeans, and fingerless gloves, sketching in a sketchbook, or a pad of paper, or on the counter in marker.

On one occasion, Lance and Hunk had walked in and he was painting on the window next to the door, Allura behind the counter and watching his every stroke. (He was jealous for a hot second, but watching the guy work  _ was  _ mesmerizing, soothing.) 

Let Lance make something  _ very, very  _ clear.

He’s only is interested in Mr. Emo Artist for one thing.

His  _ art. _

In case you couldn’t tell, the guy is an insane artist. When the Hulkling and Wiccan comic came out, he painted the cover art onto the window. He’s insanely talented and Lance—

Lance has been looking for an artist for years. Has been waiting for someone talented to agree to work with them since they finished their script. Said script was printed and kept in pristine condition with the rest of his comics, waiting to be brought to life by an artist.

And Lance— Lance would  _ really  _ like to work with the guy.

He’s just having  _ a tiny  _ bit of trouble actually talking to him.

Allura walks out of the backroom, in all her gorgeous, goddess-like glory. She recently cut her hair, the white waves ending just above her shoulders. She wears a black crop top with America Chavez on it, slightly faded, and high-rise whitewash jeans. She hops onto the counter, crossing her legs, causing Mr. Emo Artist to look at her. “I eat lunch here.”

“My bum is covered, it’s fine.”

The guy scoffs, disbelieving. “Of course, it’s all good, then.”

“See, you get me.” She leans forward slightly, craning her neck to see what the guys drawing. “School or pleasure?”

“School.”

“Ah, that explains the overwhelming presence of heterosexuality.”

Mr. Emo Artist scoffs, shoving Allura away. She grins, leaning back on her hands.

Hunk nudges Lance with his elbow, tilting his head towards the two employees. They vehemently shake his head, glaring. Hunk sighs, sending his friend a look that says, ‘I can’t believe you’re making me do this.’ Realization dawns on Lance, and before they can protest or stop Hunk, he’s speaking. “Hey, Allura—”

Lance smacks a hand over his friend’s mouth. “Nope, not doing that.”

Hunk’s eyes swim with amusement because as they both know, the dead is done and Lance is about to die. A slow, torturous, embarrassing death. They aren’t usually one to get embarrassed, but this is important to them. Allura raises an amused eyebrow in their direction. “I was wondering when you were going to stop stalking us.”

“I wasn’t—” Lance makes a series of incomprehensible noises, hands waving in the air. “I wasn’t stalking you!”

Hunk, no longer being kept quiet by Lance, speaks,  _ and wow is it give Lance a heart attack day.  _ “He’s definitely been stalking Mr. Artist, over there. I promise they aren’t usually like this.”

Lance pouts. 

“Oh.” Allura sits up, gesturing to the Cuban and addressing Artist Mad. “This is Lance. They’re a regular.”

“I noticed.”

“And the hunk of a man next to them is Hunk. This is Keith. He’s a new hire.”

Keith crosses his arms over the counter. “It’s been a month, I don’t think I qualify as new.”

“You’re new until we hire someone else.”

Keith scoffs. “Sound logic.”

“So, are you gonna put on your big kid pants or am I gonna have to force this to happen?” 

Lance glares at Hunk, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “I  _ hate  _ you.”

“Aw, I love you, too.”

The Cuban takes a steadying breath— though, it doesn’t do much to calm their nerves at all— and marches over to the counter. He points at Keith. “You draw.”

“Uh, yes?”

Allura’s eyes widen in realization. “Oh, my, god it’s finally happening.”

Keith looks at her in slight alarm. “I’m sorry, what?” Allura doesn’t answer, so Keith turns back to Lance. “What?”

“Right. Uh, so I’m assuming you like comics—”

“Understatement, continue.”

“—well I wrote one. And I’ve been looking for an artist—”

“You want me to—”

“Draw for the comic, yes.”  


Keith blinks. “What.” He stops, blinking again, processing. “I have questions.”

“Right.”

“Could we meet somewhere? After my shift?”

Lance blinks. So, they weren’t expecting that. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no. Meeting later would give them time to figure out  _ how to fucking speak because apparently, he forgot how to.  _ He nods. “Yeah, no, that’d be great, actually.”

“Right, uh. I finish work at— actually—” Keith ducks down behind the counter, reappearing with sticky notes, taking his pencil and scribbling down a series of numbers. “Here. Uh, this’ll probably be easier.” He hands the sticky note to Lance, who takes it with slightly shaky hands.   
  
“Holy shit this is happening.”

“Maybe.”

“Hopefully.”

“Possibly.”

Lance grins. “You still haven’t said no.”

“I still haven’t said yes.”

“Good enough for me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come scream about klance and comics with me](https://spartona.tumblr.com)


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